Time in a Bottle
by soaper410
Summary: First person account of Rayna (after 2 x 18).


**Just a one-shot (maybe a two-fer if I get inspired.) I wrote this prior to 2 x 19 airing but I still think its fits with the timeline that the show is currently one. Hope you enjoy and actually feeling optimistic about the rest of the season with Rayna/Deacon. This is kinda different that what I've written before. It is suppose to jump around as it is from a first person perspective.**

**TIME IN A BOTTLE**

I walk around my house sadly. The laundry is done and the dishes are unloaded. There is nothing interesting on television, no business that needs to be dealt with immediately. There is just 6, 439 square feet of nothing but me. I realize sadly that I'm not just alone, tonight I'm lonely.

I look down at my watch, an expensive 40th birthday present from Teddy. The face shows 9:15 but it feels much later. I frown as I wonder down the hallway. Luke is in Boston, playing another sold-out show. Tandy and Buck have gone away for the weekend. Scarlett is with Juliette in Denver.

Tonight was supposed to be night for me and Maddie to spend together, just the two of us. But, then Teddy slept with Megan and Deacon found out. Deacon asked Luke for a few days off the tour which Luke was fine with. So then, Maddie dumped me for Deacon.

The original plan was Maddie would be home by 8. According to Maddie's text message, she and Deacon are still "writing and hanging out. There is no offer for me to come join them, not that I deserve one or expect one.

I make my way into the kitchen and reach for the drawer. I grab a corkscrew and a bottle of wine. I usually stay away from merlot but tonight it feels appropriate. I fill my glass slowly.

It occurs to me that I've only smiled one time today. It was when I dropped off Daphne at her sleepover. Her excitment was infectious and I couldn't help but smile. Daphne has been crossing off days on the calendar for a week, so excited to go to her "first real sleepover."

I frown into the glass, sipping the wine. It is hard to believe that my baby is already ten years old. Pretty soon, she'll be talking about boys and throwing major attitude at me. I gulp down another sip of wine realizing that in a few years, I'll have two teenagers.

I think back to my own elementary school days. Back then, every day passed carefree and happily. Every school year lasted an eternity. Christmas never came. Summer felt like centuries away. I take the last sip of my wine.

Suddenly, I see my third grade teacher. She was a plump woman who always wore her hair in a bun. I can't even remember her name anymore. But, I can hear her words clearly. I lift an eyebrow. It is strange how that works. I can't remember the long division that woman taught me but I can hear her voice clear as day. She would always warn us to quit wishing our lives away waiting for recess.

That plump woman would warn us that when we became her age, the years would rush by. It seemed so foreign back then that we would ever be her age. Even now, that teacher seems old, almost ancient. The truth is that teacher was probably in her early fifties. I'll be that age soon.

At that depressing thought I reach for the already open wine bottle. I pour another glass and grab the stem. I should take a gentle sip and let the taste linger on my tongue. Instead, I gulp the entire glass down. I could swear it's only been a few minutes since I opened the bottle but my watch shows nearly twenty minutes has passed.

Deacon and I once wrote a song about time. We never recorded it, I don't even know if we ever finished it. The only part I really remember is, "Time is like the wind, elusive and unstoppable." I frown as I realize how odd that lyric sounds. No wonder we never finished that song. Still, time is very strange.

When I'm on stage, two hours passes in an instant. When I can't sleep, two hours feels like an eternity. I sigh and take another large gulp of wine.

After Mama died, time seemed to stop. For months after, I had no concept of what day of the week it was. I would be wide awake in the middle of the night and sleep through the days. Homework was left undone, classes were skipped, and curfews were broken. The private school I was enrolled in turned their heads at the poor little rich girl who just lost her mother. As long as Daddy's checks cleared, the school didn't care what I did during my days.

As for me, time didn't matter then at all. Whether it was six am on a Tuesday or midnight on Friday: Mama was dead, Daddy was at work, and Tandy was crying.

The same held true for years afterwards. Time was a concept that didn't apply to me. As a musician, my life was lost in late night bar shows and early morning studio sessions. Busses speed down interstates at all times of the days with black curtain and tinted windows. There were weeks when I never saw the sun. Nights bleed into late mornings encompassed with alcohol and sex. Songs were written in minutes on cocktail napkins. Verses were composed over hours of pizza and carpet burns. Award shows came and went amongst gold records and concerts. One week it was a snowy Christmas in Nashville and the next it was a hot summer afternoon in Mexico. Time didn't matter at all. Nothing mattered except music and Deacon.

I lose myself in a sea of memories for just a moment. It's all I ever allow myself. I lose myself in a long weekend at the cabin. It was around the time Deacon put the hammock up. Damn, those rope burns were bad.

Suddenly, I'm in the present again and thirsty again. I empty the bottle into my glass and swirl around in the glass. I wonder where the bottle came from. I didn't buy it. Tandy could have, I suppose. But the winery is a tad too pedestrian for my sister's taste. I swirl the red wine around before taking another large sip. Teddy likes merlot. He probably bought it after the accident, back when he was helping me recover. I laugh out loud at nothing in particular then drink another large sip.

It's funny but for years my life had nothing to do with time. Then suddenly that was all it was about. Days and weeks were measured in colored chips. Shows became about how many songs we could get through without Deacon throwing up or passing out. Fights were measured in hours, not minutes. Good days were about distractions and getting past the cravings. Bad days were about how long he would have to keep a steak over his eye to stop the swelling. I timed his bathroom trips and counted the hours until I could file a missing person's report. It was 28 days of rehab, 1 year of probation, 7 minutes until the ambulance arrived, 2 hours until he sobered up enough to take him home.

Then there were those 5 minutes, waiting for the line to turn blue that changed everything. I swear those five minutes lasted forever. My period was three weeks late, my boobs were sore, and I'd thrown up non-stop that morning. I knew I was pregnant, but still those five minutes were some of the longest of my life.

After the test confirmed what I already knew, time past in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I was visibly pregnant and it was a girl. I was picking out a cream colored dress and moving into a new home.

Motherhood came and then time became something totally different. Time was broken down into the few hours known as 'between feedings'. A few hours of sleep felt so quick while four minutes of Maddie crying felt like an eternity. Milestones were marked in how many teeth she had and how many steps she could take. Days of the week were divided by Monday's piano practice and Thursday's soccer games. Even then, time seemed so abstract. I knew it was passing, the girls' growth spurts and maturity showed me that.

Every once in a while, I would see a new wrinkle or realize Deacon's one-night-stand was closer to Maddie's age than mine. It was always like a slap in the face when I realized I was aging. But then, I would just add more makeup or pretend I didn't see Deacon's newest conquest. It was easier than facing the truth that time was slipping by.

Tonight, I feel older and no makeup or turning a blind eye is going to help. Although the wine is helping. I realize I need to open a new bottle. I fumble with the corkscrew for a minute before I hear a loud 'pop.' I pour the glass nearly full before I realize this bottle is white wine. I bring the glass to my nose and inhale. It smells good. A tentative sip later and I realize it's sweet and light. I guzzle the glass down like water and refill my glass quickly.

My watch says nearly an hour has lapsed since I started drinking. Then I squint and realize it's only been forty-five minutes. That's another thing that has progressively gotten worse, my eyes. I fumble around for a thought. Oh yes, now I remember. Time. I was thinking about time.

I've often wondered if time worked different for other people. Did people really put a red line through a calendar every single day? Were there actually individuals who got excited for the first of the month so they could get their paycheck? If there was really such a thing as a routine that happened week after week, month after month. I use to believe that kind of life sounded stifling. But, lately I've pondered more and more if I might thrive in that atmosphere. Maybe, I would have been a better wife to Teddy? Maybe, Deacon would have found the stability in our relationship that only booze gave him back then? Daddy and I might have had more time or more understanding of each other if that had been my life.

I've been thinking about time a lot lately. Going back in time, how much I have left, am I using my time effectively? Daddy's death struck me hard. We've never been close but for the last thirty years he has been the only parent I've known. The wine in my glass is running low, so I go ahead and refill it. My head spins and I smile at the feeling. Time is a tickin' and another glass is poured. That might be a decent lyric.

I stumble to the bathroom and nearly pee on my hand. Hunger pains hit and it occurs to me that I never did eat supper. I manage to order a pizza from the delivery place down the road. It's one of those fancy places with fruit pizza and French bread crust. Still, the security guard at the gate will let him through and I'm hungry. They tell me it will be 30 minutes. I don't want to wait 30 minutes, I'm hungry now. I open the fridge door but soon forget what I was going to get so I close the door back.

I nearly fall as I try to sit back on the kitchen bar stool, so I head into the living room. My drink slushes in the glass as I sit down on the couch. I close my eyes for a second, suddenly feeling tired.

A second later, the door is thrown open and I jump off the couch. I wipe the drool off my face and smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt. Maddie walks right past me while rolling her eyes. She yells a 'Thanks for nothing' before stomping up the stairs. My head is swimming and I have to focus on not falling over, but I'm pretty sure I did nothing to Maddie. I look at the stairs for a moment and then hear the door of the kitchen slam shut.

Deacon is in my kitchen with a brown box in hand. I smile as the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air. Without saying anything, Deacon proceeds to throw the wine bottles in the recycling bin and clean up something on the floor. I remind myself to be cool as I walk up the steps into the kitchen.

"Fun night?" Deacon asks with no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I just shrug, wrapping my arms around my torso and watch as proceeds to pull out two plates. Somehow we end up back on the couch with the pizza in between us. I ask him why Maddie is in a bad mood and he meets my gaze.

"She wants to go with me to see Scarlett perform in Memphis."

I roll my eyes around for a second before clumsily reaching for another slice. "Memphis is Monday night. She has school."

Deacon nods, "I told Maddie that but she thinks I'm cool and would let her go. She's decided that you are the reason she can't go." I don't even bother responding. These days, everything is my fault.

"I don't get time," I say honestly. It makes no sense out of context and my words slur together. But I'm serious and I think that he senses that I'm on the cusp of a drunken realization. I let out a puff of air.

"Time?" Deacon asks in response.

He licks sauce off his fingers. In response, I lick my lips. I feel dizzy and I lean my head back against the pillows. Silence engulfs the room and I say out loud what I've been thinking about all night.

I mumble as I try to tell him all I am thinking about. I throw a clumsy hand and nearly knock him in the face. I move from one thought to the next quickly. One sentence is about Daddy dying, the next is about Maddie's paternity. I tell him that Teddy bought me a watch once and how I wish I could remember my teacher's name. It all makes sense to me but Deacon's confused expression tells me he has no clue what I am referring to.

"Are you still upset that Megan slept with Teddy?" I ask.

His expression sours but I can feel a smirk on my lips. I like that his sweet, widowed, understanding, lawyer girlfriend isn't his girlfriend anymore. He says he doesn't want to talk about it. I eat another bite of pizza and shrug. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Deacon takes another slice of pizza out of the box and we let the silence encompass us.

"You know you were always better than he was," I finally admit.

His eyes, dull with painful memories meet mine. I've lost my inhibitions. It's probably the two bottles of wine but maybe it's time. Who cares what I say now? I'm not married. I'm not anyone's child.

I look down at his lap and lick my lips again, "You're also way..." My voice trails off but I take my hands and bring them together, then let them drift apart. Silently, I mouth the word 'bigger'.

I giggle as Deacon chokes on the pizza and stands up. He blushes. He never blushes. I brush my hair out of my face and watch him as he nearly runs into the chaise lounge. Deacon mumbles that he is going upstairs to check on Maddie.

Once he is gone I search my mind for that damn teacher's name. Ms. Potter? No Ms. Jacobs? Nope, that doesn't even sound right. Then suddenly Deacon is back downstairs and heads back into the kitchen. Without even acknowledging me, Deacon grabs his car keys from the island.

I scramble to get off the couch and move to the kitchen. Calmly, Deacon says that he needs to go. I disagree with one hand on my hip and another on his hand. I give him a sad look, doing my best to look sexy and alluring. In actuality, I look drunk and pathetic.

I ask him to stay a little longer. He says no.

I joke that, "We haven't even finished the pizza."

His eyes tell me that his patience is wearing thin but I know Deacon. I've known him for so damn long. I shake my head as I get side tracked again.

"Ray…" his voice trails off. Perhaps he's noticed the third empty bottle hidden near the fridge. I know he sees me readjust my bra and pull down my shirt further. Perhaps he is thinking clear enough to know Maddie is still awake. Perhaps he doesn't find me sexy anymore. I'm too old, or too drunk, or too good at keeping his daughter away from him.

But then things speed up and somehow I am pressed against him. Gently, Deacon's arms rest on my shoulders. He whispers my name again. And I sigh out loud because I realize that he's turning me down.

I pull out a barstool and slump down. I feel Deacon's lips touch my forehead. He smiles against my skin, "Thanks for the vote of confidence earlier."

I turn to face him and smile brightly. I whisper that I miss him and feel my eyes pool with tears.

He leans in again and kisses my forehead once more before practically running out the door. I see headlights through the window and just stare at the cabinets. I've never liked the cabinets. Teddy picked those out years ago.

Then I find myself smiling as I'm reminded that Megan is gone. Just like all the others. A year from now, Megan will be like Stacy or Gina or Katie or all the others. They all are gone, all but me. My eyes lower at how callous my own thoughts sounds.

Deacon has always been mine. I have always been his. It's been that way for decades. It will keep being that way for decades more. Megan's time with Deacon is over. Mine isn't. I get lost in the thoughts and memories swimming around in my head. Then I hear Maddie calling me.

I look over to see my daughter hunched over the pizza box, trying to steal a slice. Somehow we both end up on the couch eating the sausage and peppers that are stuck to the bottom of the box. She complains about not going to Memphis. I complain that she didn't clean her room.

Then its morning. My head hurts, my legs hurt; hell, my eye lids hurt. I become aware of the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Then, I see Maddie by the door and say her name in a question. My stomach rolls as I sit up. Maddie has a cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of headache medicine in the other.

Maddie's voice sounds loud and piercing, "Deacon texted me. He told me to bring you coffee."

I pull myself into a sitting position. My stomach rolls again and I take a few deep breathes. I sip the hot liquid and moan to myself. It is just the way I love it and it soothes my stomach. Maddie says that Teddy is going to pick up Daphne from the slumber party. My eyes widen when I realize that I'd completely forgotten about my younger child. How much did I have to drink?

A moment later, Maddie returns with a pile of burnt toast. It is just the way I like, black and crumbly. There is only one person on the face of the planet who knows how I like my toast when I'm hungover.

"Deacon texted you again?" I ask.

Maddie shrugged. "Deacon says I need to be nicer to you." I smile despite how bad I feel.

Then suddenly, Maddie is on my bed talking about how much fun she had last night. I realize that I'm still drunk.

Maddie pulls out her IPAD and crawls under the covers beside me. Despite how bad I feel, I can't help be relieved that my daughter is finally acting as if she likes me again. Maddie shows me a youtube video of Deacon and I from around 1995.

It was one of those CBS specials that were taped concerts. The video skips in places and every once in a while the audio is a beat off from the images. Still, we watch it together and laugh at my outfits and my hair. We heat up the last slices of pizza from the night before. I could care less about the grease stains we get on the comforter.

Maddie asks a ton of questions and I tell her at least a dozen stories. I realize that Maddie is the only person who I've ever told these stories too.

During one of the concert portions, the camera pans to Vince. For a second, I feel sick again. He looks healthy and young. Maddie sees my expression and ask who the guy is. Carefully, I tell her as much of the truth as a fourteen should know.

"His name was Vince. Vince Porzio. He was Deacon's best friend and he played in my band for years."

I know Maddie wants to ask more questions but for whatever reason she decides to push play again on the video. It occurs to me as we watch the last twenty minutes of the video that this video is nearly 20 years old. Back then we still sold more cassette tapes than CDs. Back then, Deacon had only been to rehab twice.

Then Maddie plays another video. We spend the rest of the morning eating snacks and laughing over some of my old music videos. I laugh so hard that I snort when we find an award show where Deacon has the beginnings of a mullet.

My head stops swimming from the alcohol. My nausea is gone, replaced with belly aches from hysterically laughing. Time passes slowly and I drink in the moments. I try to memorize every smile Maddie shares with me. I run my fingers through her hair and watch her as she stares at the screen.

I text Deacon a quick apology for "whatever the hell I did last night."

I get a response back almost immediately. I spend the next few minutes chatting back and forth with Deacon while our daughter stares at the computer screen.

Eventually Teddy brings Daphne home. He is slightly annoyed that I drank a bottle of his wine. He's even more annoyed when he realizes that Maddie and I have spent the entire morning watching videos of Deacon and I. Daphne heads to her room and immediately falls asleep.

When Deacon sends a text message mid-afternoon, I smile. He lets me know that tomorrow he's planning on going fishing and invites the, "three prettiest ladies I know to join me." I don't know who is more excited, the girls or me.

That night as I lay down, the subject of time comes back. Only this time, I don't feel old. I don't feel particularly upset or depressed about time. Instead, I realize I'm actually optimistic. I have tomorrow with my three favorite people in the world.


End file.
